Listen to Your Mother
by whitetiger91
Summary: Ernie wants to return to Hogwarts for his seventh year despite the Wizarding world being on the brink of war. Surprise, surprise, his mother refuses to let him go. Is he capable enough of defending himself if ever necessary? Is he ready to fight? Written for the Dumbledore's Army competition on the HPFC forum.


**Listen to Your Mother**

**_A/N: I do not own anything from the world of Harry Potter in this fic._**

**_Thanks for reading! :)_**

**_A _****_HUGE THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL SABLE SUPERNOVA FOR BETAING THIS PIECE :D especially for helping with the passive sentences I originally had! I feel so much better about it now, thank you!_**

* * *

Bitter autumn winds howled and rattled the kitchen window. Branches clawed at the glass, begging to be let in by the boy staring bitterly into the darkness. He had cut his thumb on the knife he'd been using to peel potatoes, a small ruby droplet rising on its tip as he tried to suck it away.

"I don't suppose you think I'm old enough to use my wand now to peel these, do you?" Ernie scowled, now watching his mother in the smooth reflection of the glass as she bustled behind him, setting the dinner table.

Matilda Macmillan didn't lift her head, continuing to place silver forks and knives on the placemats. Her hands shook as she placed the third set down and, realising that it was no longer needed, quickly vanished them back to the cupboard draws with a flick of her wand. She bent her head as her shoulders sagged and then turned to look at her son.

Ernie spun around, a cloth now pressed to his wound. The flickering candlelight illuminated the fine lines around his mother's eyes, but he was too irritated to back down.

"I could've cut myself again, you know. Oh, but wait, you'd rather I bleed to death than have the Ministry track our magic! For Merlin's sake Mum, you work there; you know they're not going to care what I do. In fact, they'll probably be more concerned that I'm not returning to school next week."

"Please Ernie, not this again," Matilda's voice was hoarse, her knuckles turning white as she leant into the table.

For the last few weeks they had been arguing over Ernie's return to Hogwarts. Sometimes they would shriek at each other into the late hours of the night; sometimes it would end in tears of fear and frustration; sometimes it would be snide comments. Often his mother would give him unnecessary chores in the hope that he would not have time to pack his trunk. As he expected almost every other mother in the country was doing, she was refusing to allow him to go back to school because of the threats the war posed. Matilda had trusted whole-heartedly in Dumbledore: now that the headmaster had passed, the Ministry had fallen into the hands of a man with a harsh, gruff voice that matched his hard views. With the strength of a mother's love at her back, she feared the Death Eaters, who now had risen in numbers instead of dwindling, would target people, boys really, like her son.

Ernie knew his mother loved him. He would often catch her standing outside his door after their arguments, her slippers squeaking on the landing. She would peek into his room as he pretended to sleep, watching him with a sad smile. As much as he appreciated her concern, however, it didn't make him any less annoyed that she did not trust in his abilities to defend himself. He knew he would be safe, knew he could defend himself if necessary- had he not spent his fifth year practicing defence charms and learning to cast a patronus?

"I'm a Pureblood mum, in case you haven't realised. I'm also of age, so now I don't have the trace on me- it's not like I'm some first year with no magical training! I've almost mastered Apparition. I won't be in any danger; besides, my friends will all be going."

"Oh, I suppose Hannah Abbot will be there, will she? After her mother passed away, I doubt it."

"She will, she'll want to complete her studies. I'm a Prefect, I have to go. How will I become a healer? Without an education, I won't qualify for an apprenticeship. Who will look after the younger students? Who will make sure everyone there is safe?"

"I'm sure there won't be any students there this year, not if their parents have any wits about them. No, it's too dangerous, who knows whether Hogwarts will be protected from Death Eater attacks? They can try to hide it all they like, but I know that quite a few of your peers have questionable relatives," Matilda lifted a hand to her forehead, as if she felt a headache coming on. "You are just not ready."

Rolling his pale blue eyes, he threw the scarlet-stained cloth into the sink.

"I can handle myself! I was in the Duelling Club in my second year, wasn't I? I was also in the DA the year before last, the one that Harry Potter himself formed! I learnt how to defend myself in the meetings; I know quite a few spells-"

"Your father knew quite a few spells too, and look where that got him!"

Ernie could tell that she regretted saying it the moment the words slipped out from her lips, watching silently as the colour drained from her face. Closing her eyes and dropping her shoulders, she pulled the nearest chair out from underneath the table and sunk into it. He could hear the steady 'thunk' of water droplets from the leaking faucet hitting the sink below, counting the otherwise silent seconds that passed, as his mother buried her face into her hands, breath now shallow.

Although it had been months since it had happened, neither Ernie nor Matilda had ever really mentioned his father. More often than not, it was too painful for them to contemplate, given his unknown fate.

Ernest Senior had fallen victim to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's rise to power. He had been working inside the grand marble halls of Gringotts when it happened, supervising the Goblin handling of Muggle-born accounts. Any valuables left inside these accounts had been deemed property of the Ministry and it was his task to ensure everything was transferred into a Ministerial vault. Unfortunately, one particular vault's contents had raised interest with a few hard-faced Death Eaters posted at the bank; as Ernest refused to release the contents to them, the reasons for which Ernie was still unsure of, he was tortured and branded a blood traitor. Ernie could only imagine According to officials, he was then moved to St Mungos for treatment, yet, according to the ever-smiling but lacking medi-witches Ernie and Matilda tried to speak to, Ernest was barred from any visitors. All they could was try to see him, but it never got them anywhere.

Despite often catching his mother sobbing over old photographs when she thought he wasn't looking, Ernie was sure that his father had survived the attack. His heart told him so; if he was dead, he was sure it would not be capable of beating as strongly as it did. The attack was why he had to return to Hogwarts.

He felt guilty at leaving his mother behind, especially with no house-elf in their service. But if he could just go to school, finish his education somehow, maybe even achieve his NEWTs if exams were still occurring, then he could find his father. He could become a healer and train at St Mungos, making it easier to know what was happening to him. He could bring him back home where he belongs. He could even use his medical skills to help the war effort. His friends also needed him, and he needed them. Hufflepuff, the D.A.: both were his family. He needed to return to make sure that they were safe, that they didn't do anything rash without his input. He couldn't keep them safe from his living room.

Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "Please Mum, I can do this. I'll be safe-"

"You're not going and that is final!" Matilda stood up, the chair scraping along the polished floorboards as she did so. Brushing a hand through her blonde bun, grey wisps flying out as she did so, she stormed over to the overflowing trash can beside the door. Picking up the black bag inside and thrusting it into his arms, her voice resigned she asked, "Now, will you please take this out before it attracts Garden Gnomes again?"

* * *

Ernie's muttering didn't cease as the wind whipped his cloak about, the silver moon's beams cast a pale light on his path down the driveway. He desperately wanted to draw his wand and levitate the bins to the front, but the will to get away from the house and his mother, even for a few minutes, was too tempting to resist. So, using as much energy as possible, he began to drag the wheelie bin to the road side, pebbles from the driveway scattering in his progress.

Slightly out of breath from the exertion, he finally passed the front gates and dumped the plastic bin onto the bitumen. In the darkness, the street could have easily been mistaken for a still river, its surface untouched by any other bin, even as it bended further down. It was quite a shame that many of his neighbours, both Wizards and Muggles alike, had long left their beautiful homes in search of a safer place. Their absence was made even more obvious by the lack of barking that usually filled the air, and the way golden light no longer spilled from most of the windows were without golden light spilling through them.

He sighed as he saw the Whittle's white gate opening and closing in the gusts across the road and to the left. With a pang he remembered how he would play with their Muggle daughter, Ariana, when he was younger; the pair of them had often spent time laughing as they had swung on that gate. Now she was somewhere in Ireland with a distant uncle, her parents had been been murdered in the house whilst she was at school one day. If only they hadn't crossed paths with Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother, they wouldn't have been followed and hunted down for sport.

Shaking the horrid thoughts from his head, Ernie walked back into the safety of his own high green gates. Instead of heading for the front door, he diverted his path to the back paddock, intent on checking on his father's shed. If- no, when Ernest came home, he wanted to ensure that it was not to a shed empty of its contents simply because the neighbourhood children, whatever was left of them, felt the need to 'borrow' the few Muggle tools he kept in there.

As he made his way through the tall yellowing grass, he noticed that one set of the outside lamps surrounding the side of the house had blown out. Their flames had probably died out in the wind and he could not be bothered to relight them. The moonlight was enough to see by, and as long as he did not come across any rabbit holes that could twist his ankle, he would be alright. It was refreshing in a way to listen to the trees whispering as they swayed together, leaves dancing side by side brushing against each other in a rhythm all of their own.

Before long, Ernie had reached the small timber shed. As he had suspected, the heavy padlock hung open on its steel hook as the shed's door stood open a few inches, just as he had left it that afternoon. The warmth emanating from within was tempting, inviting him in to look around its depths once more. His hand enclosed around the timber, ignoring the possibility of splinters, as he obeyed its call, slowly opening it further. Dinner was over after all, so he could spare a few moments tinkering around inside.

He turned back to the house to check that his mother was not watching him, only to realise that the back lights had also gone out, joining the side lights in darkness. His stomach gave a funny little jolt as his throat turned dry. He had easily dismissed the side lights' absence– the glass containers protecting them could be fickle at the best of times. On the other hand, the back lamps were sturdy and hardly ever failed, even during weather much more wild than tonight's. A cold chill made its way up his spine and it was all he could do not to shiver.

He was being silly, he knew, conjuring monsters out of shadows where there weren't any; it was probably from all the thinking he had done about Ariana and murderers on the loose. Straightening his posture and puffing his chest out slightly, Ernie turned back to the task at hand. Extending both hands, he pushed on the door, using force to aid the movement of the rusty hinges.

"Argh!"

Ernie leapt back just in time as a red light hit the door, mere inches above his fingertips. His heart had leapt into his throat before returning to his chest, thrumming against his rib cage. Spinning around, he patted his pocket, desperately searching for his wand.

In front of him stood a cloaked figure poised ready to attack. Their black hood was pulled low over their face, disguising any tell-tale features. Ernie did not need to see the face to know that whoever this was, they were not a friend. A long, thin wand was aimed at his panting chest, waiting for the right time to shoot another spell.

"Well now, what is a little boy like you doing out here all alone on a night like this?" the voice rasped, not quite giving away the owner's sex.

Ernie guessed by the sheer height that it was a male, and though it lacked muscle, was probably strong enough that he wouldn't be overpowered. This was the first Death Eater he had come face to face with since the end of school. The masked witches and wizards he had battled with his fellow D.A. members had been terrifying in their numbers, yet this one seemed more menacing on his own somehow, perhaps because he had used the element of surprise.

"My- my mother's inside you know, she'll see you and get help," clapping a hand over his mouth, he immediately realised the stupidity of revealing his mother's existence.

He had not noticed before any sign of the Dark Mark, rumoured to be placed over houses whose residents had fallen victim to You-Know-Who's followers, so chances were this man had not yet gotten to her. Opening his big mouth had probably just ruined any hope she had.

He needn't have worried though, for the man's next cackled words confirmed his fears.

"Oh trust me, I know."

"Leave her alone!"

Merciless cackles filled the air once more as the man raised his wand.

Ernie tried to swallow the thick lump that was now causing his breathing to be shallow and concentrated on inching his wand into a better position. His eyes darted from side to side to find a place to hide as he wracked his brain for a means of escape past the man. Although he would not admit it aloud, he had been rather hopeless at casting non-verbal spells last year; if he raised his wand now he knew the cloaked figure would immediately cast whichever curse he had in mind.

An idea struck him, more foolish than anything, but at least it bought him time to get his own spell in. Looking over the man's left shoulder into the distance, he commanded his voice to stay strong.

"Please, just let me go. I'm not important."

Ernie continued flicking his gaze from the man's hidden face to a spot just over his shoulder. After several times doing this, the Death Eater began to shift from one foot to the other. His wand was still pointed at him, but the figure seemed to stall, as if uncertain. Finally, as Ernie had hoped, the man swivelled around, evidently searching for whoever was behind him and coming to the boy's aid. Of course, no one was there, but Ernie could not dance in victory over his small display of cunningness.

Taking his chance, he lifted his own wand. "Stupefy!"

The red beam danced from his wand, hitting the figure's right hip. Ernie's aim left a lot to desire, but it was enough for him to send the man sprawling on the ground, giving him the opportunity to sprint off across the paddock.

He didn't know exactly where he was going. Despite what he told his mother, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to Disapparate. He had witnessed the effects of splinching many a time in the past, and didn't fancy appearing in some random place hobbling on one leg and missing an arm. His house was clearly not an option anymore, not if it had been penetrated by the Death Eater already – who knew how many more could appear, waiting for his return? Still, his legs carried him forward, the fear propelling him on. His surroundings blurred into a swirl of black, blues, greys and greens; trees, grass, sky, house.

He could feel footsteps hot on his heels; could hear the steady pounding of footsteps as they hit the earth, the wind tickling the back of his neck, cooling the sweat as though someone was breathing on him. Supressing a shiver, he chanced a look behind him.

The cloaked figure was meters behind, black cloud billowing behind like a bat. Sparks were erupting from his wand, and as Ernie gripped his own, lights shot out at him. Yellows, blues, purples, reds. Each spell was sent faster than the next, causing him to slow down and shoot his own.

He was thankful for the spells he had learnt with the D.A. as he easily blocked each spell, sending them ricocheting off into the fence and trees. If he concentrated, he could imagine it was a sort of dance the two were in; every step had to be careful, their arms moving gracefully as they flicked their wands in high arcs. With every spell he sent, Ernie grew more confident.

"Diffendo!"

"Stupefy!"

"Tarentellegra!"

Perhaps he would survive. Sending a final disarming spell and smiling as it hit his target, the man's wand flying off into the distance, he took off for the neighbours' property. Perhaps he could use the old wizard's fireplace and send a floo message to Justin, or Michael, or even Neville? Unfortunately, his D.A. coin was still in his bedroom, lying on his desk where he had frequently watched it, hoping for some news of his friends. Maybe he could outrun the man and get to his room to retrieve it? He wasn't the world's best runner, but he was faster than the fool behind him. He could even be the one to use the element of surprise this time, dashing in and surprising any other Death Eaters with his wand at the ready.

Nodding to himself, Ernie decided it was the best course of action. Angling slightly to the left, he ran towards the back door, its cream colour comforting against the bricks. The closer he drew to it, the more excited he was to test out his skills. He began to imagine the claps on the back he would receive when his friends heard of the brave way he burst through his door, taking out a dozen Death Eaters with a single sweep of his wand.

Unfortunately, he was too busy planning his victory party to notice the rabbit hole that was in his direct path. His left foot plunged into the hole, twisting it into an unnatural position and jerking his body to the ground. White-hot pain shot up his leg as he stifled a cry, gritting his teeth as tears sprang to his eyes. He tried to stand up, to keep going, but testing his weight on it, he knew it was no use. As he rolled his trouser leg up, he could see by the moonlight that his ankle was twice its normal size; beneath the pale skin, nasty blotches of red, purple, yellow and blue were appearing.

Idiot. He was an idiot. His cockiness would surely be his undoing. Glancing around, he saw that his wand had rolled away in the fall, just out of his reach, as the Death Eater steadily approached him, reunited with his own wand. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ernie was angry, the tears now flowing freely down his face, making his cheeks sticky and red. Angry at his mother, for making him feel the need to prove himself; angry at his father, for disappearing on them and causing the arguments with his mother. Angry at You-Know-Who, for daring to rise to power; angry at his followers, for showing no mercy. More than that, he was angry at himself, for thinking he could be a Gryffindor: a hero. Heat swam through his veins as his heart hammered on wildly.

Above all else, however, he was scared.

The Death Eater's approach was agonisingly slow, almost as though purposefully drawing out the time before they would meet. Ernie wouldn't have been surprised if the man was part-werewolf, or some other unpleasant creature, and could smell the oxytocin pumping through him. His teeth chattered and his limbs trembled, each step the man took driving a nail of terror through his heart.

Finally, the crisp grass in front of him stopped crunching as the figure stopped, towering over his cowering form.

"I see you like to waste time, don't you?" the Death Eater growled down to him, no more hint of amusement in his hoarse voice as he rubbed his hip.

All Ernie could manage to do was gulp, a faint squeak coming out in place of any coherent words. He wanted to beg for mercy, to plead he wasn't his father – he wasn't brave. He was young, barely of age, and not ready to fight.

The man looked on in apparent disgust at his quivering, the disappointment evident in his voice as he shook his head slowly side to side.

"I knew you weren't ready."

He raised his wand arm as Ernie shrunk further into the ground, wishing he could sink into the earth and become a part of it. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth gritted this time in anticipation of an imminent death.

* * *

It was only when no pain came that Ernie slowly peeked out of his eye lids, blinking rapidly to make sense of the situation. He was still sitting on the ground, his ankle throbbing and wind howling about him. He couldn't be dead – dead people didn't feel pain, at least not that he knew of. Panicking, he swivelled his head about, searching for the Death Eater.

The cloaked being was in front of him, and he could now see the wide smile it bore. The hood had been removed, revealing a messy knot of blonde and grey.

"Mum?"

Matilda lifted her wand to her throat, muttering a few incantations. When finished, she pointed it to his swollen leg, muttering a few more. Instantly, Ernie felt the pressure lift in it as what felt like cold ice soared through, leaving only a dull ache behind. However, he was too busy opening and closing his mouth like a codfish to take it in.

"Mum? What- how?"

"I didn't expect you to trip in the hole like that," stretching out her hand, she offered to help him up. He must have paused a second too long, his eyes feeling as though they were popping out of his socket, for her expression turned from a grim satisfaction to worry. "You're not too hurt, are you?"

His heart was still ramming against his chest painfully as it continued heaving up and down. He managed to shake his head, though his tears had not yet dried up. He allowed his mother to place her hands under his armpits and heave him up, balancing him against her as he wobbled slightly. Checking that he was not about to pass out, she placed a cool palm against his forehead, gently brushing away his hair.

"Oh Ernie, I'm so sorry to have frightened you. Really I am. But it was necessary- imagine if I were the real deal, you would've been done for, probably at the shed and- and-" forgetting about his ankle, she pulled him to her in a tight embrace. "I almost lost you."

Ernie should've been furious at his mother, should've yelled at her again for pulling such a stunt – but any rage he had felt had long since faded. She was alive. He was safe, and she was alive. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, leaning further into the hug, and took in the familiar smell of her hair. He was glad he was still able to do so; glad to know that she was not in danger, and that he hadn't been murdered. The rims of his eyes wet, he buried his face into her shoulder, allowing her to rub soothing circles into his back, though he could now tell he was not the only one trembling.

He still wanted to fight; was still determined to return to Hogwarts. Perhaps though, his mother was right. He wasn't quite ready to face any battlefield, either at school or elsewhere.

* * *

_**This fic was written for the Dumbledore's Army competition run by ChatterChick on the HPFC forum. The main idea was to write a one-shot or multi-chapter based on a member of the DA's time during the Second Wizarding War, since sadly, many of the characters in the group are often underwritten. The character chosen is Ernie McMillan (as you obviously know by now haha).**_

_**This was also written for the Mother's Day Competition on the HPFC forum hosted by SiriusMarauderFan. I chose 'easy' and picked Ernie and an OC mother.**_

_**As his mother and father aren't given names in canon (unfortunately the wiki I sometimes rely on isn't much help in this field either), I have taken the liberty of giving them my own. His father was therefore named Ernest Senior (or Ernest the first, whatever) as Ernie is sort for Ernest, and being a Pureblood family, I have a feeling it could be tradition to pass on names in sons (though thank Merlin it's not the same with Lucius and Draco haha). I'll leave his fate perhaps for another chapter if I ever have time, he was actually quite fun to write about… sorry for that bulk of info plopped in there, hopefully it served to explain Matilda's reservations… not that Ernie really is a horrible son, I'm sure he wouldn't normally leave his mum alone during war either. I also chose Matilda for his mother's name because, well, I just like that name, and she reminds me a little of Mrs Weasley, on the kinder side of Pureblood lineage, though possibly not as fierce.**_

_**I hope I did his story justice… and don't fret, as per canon, he does return to Hogwarts eventually… this is more how he realises he needs to be more prepared/ knows he's ready to accept the consequences. :)**_


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